


Made For It

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Positivity, Come Eating, Corsetry, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Felching, Feminization, M/M, Mirror Sex, POV Stiles, Scent Marking, Sex Positive, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7078075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When Stiles opens the box and folds back the tissue paper, he gasps. “Oh, Daddy.” He touches the emerald silk reverently. “It’s beautiful.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“It’ll look even better on you, Princess.” Peter hooks his chin over Stiles’s shoulder, fitting himself tight against Stiles’s back and meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Your skin was made for jewel tones.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Stiles lifts it out reverently. “Put it on me?” he asks breathlessly. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made For It

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so . . . I don't actually know what happened here. What was supposed to be some soft, sweet corset-porn completely got away from me and grew feelings and *flaps hand at fic* HAPPY FRIDAY! 
> 
> DenaCeleste and BelleAmante enabled the everliving shit out of this, even when it got rebellious and ran away from home, which will surprise absolutely no one. 
> 
> **WARNING** : there is mention of razors and cutting in this—not in a self-harm context, but anyone who is sensitive about that issue should tread carefully during the first bit.

 

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Princess,” Peter purrs.

Stiles gulps. That tone usually means good things, but it also usually means his mind and/or body is going to be pushed past wherever he thought his limits were. “Yeah?” he asks shakily.

Peter slinks over to kiss him. Stiles moves with it, tension he didn’t realize he was carrying melting away. When Peter pulls back, it’s to strip him. He’s standing there without a stitch on when Peter finally speaks again. “I want you to go shower, and get very, very clean for me, baby.” He strokes his fingertips along Stiles’s jaw. “And I want you to shave, get down to nothing but bare skin. But,” his tone turns suddenly sharp, “if you run into any trouble, I want you to call for me. Do _not_ mangle your pretty skin because you were too stubborn to ask for help. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.” His cock is already filling. He doesn’t do this often, leave his skin naked and soft, but he loves it. Loves the way it makes him hyper-sensitive, how it makes him feel delicate. It’s probably why Daddy has him do it.

So he nods, and scurries into Peter’s bathroom where everything he needs is already laid out for him. He scrubs down quickly but thoroughly, and shaves carefully. He takes what is probably for-fucking-ever, but he doesn’t have to ask Daddy to do his hard-to-reach places, and doesn’t hack himself up, so he calls it a win.

After hanging up the towel, he pads to the bedroom more naked than he left it. Peter’s eyes rake over him, and his expression is hungry.

“Come here, Princess. I want to make sure you didn’t miss any spots.”

He obeys. As it turns out, Peter doesn’t just want to make sure he got everywhere—his Daddy also wants to rub lotion all over his freshly-shaved body. Stiles arches into the gentle passes of Peter’s palms, knowing that his skin won’t just be extra-soft now, but that he’ll carry Peter’s scent over every inch of him. His dick, which had gone down while he concentrated on not nicking himself in the shower, gives a twitch.

“Good job, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

He blushes, and hides his face against Daddy’s shoulder. He can feel the laughter rumble through the broad chest he’s pressed against. Peter’s hand strokes up and down his back. “Are you going to let me go, baby girl? While I love holding you, you won’t be able to open your present like this.”

He blushes hotter, tucking his face closer to his Daddy’s neck. He takes a couple deep breaths, and when he feels like his face isn’t on fire, he reluctantly steps back. Peter smirks, leading him to the dresser.

When Stiles opens the box and folds back the tissue paper, he gasps. “Oh, Daddy.” He touches the emerald silk reverently. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’ll look even better on you, Princess.” Peter hooks his chin over Stiles’s shoulder, fitting himself tight against Stiles’s back and meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Your skin was made for jewel tones.”

Stiles lifts it out reverently. “Put it on me?” he asks breathlessly.

“Of course.”

And then Peter’s slipping the waist-cincher over his head, the ribbons slack and only half-laced. Stiles holds it against his chest as he watches Peter’s reflection finish lacing the eyelets, tightening it just enough that it won’t slip over his slender hips. He pushes the box out of the way and bends over, bracing his hands against the dresser, when Peter presses gently between his shoulder blades. The ribbons hiss as Peter starts tightening the laces for real, methodically working his way from the bottom to the top. The fit is snug.

“Okay, Princess. Easy part’s over. I need you to take a deep breath for me now, and hold it.”

As he does, Peter jerks the laces taut, the upper half of the waist-cincher suddenly going from snug to tight. Stiles holds his breath as Peter keeps pulling on the ribbons in his fist, his other hand working to erase the last of the slack from the bottom half. The entire process takes maybe two minutes, and at the end of it, Stiles is breathless and warm and so, so hard.

“You know, I had other plans, but now I think I’m going to fuck you. Right here, just like this, so you can watch how pretty you are in your corset, taking your Daddy’s cock.”

He can’t control the shiver that goes through him at that, or the way it makes his heartbeat stutter. He doesn’t try. Peter’s hands ghost over his skin in barely-there touches, smoothing up his hips and gliding across the stays pulling in at his waist, over his shoulders, and down his arms to wrap around his wrists. Peter leans against his back, the heat of his body barely muted by the silk, and he feels small under Daddy’s bulk.

Peter lifts one wrist, and then the other, folding Stiles down to rest on his forearms. His face heats at the way it pushes his ass up—and into the cradle of Peter’s hips, where he can feel his Daddy’s cock, hot and hard, even through denim. A hand presses against his jaw, tipping his face to the side, and Peter drops a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to get the lube, and you’re going to be a good girl and stay just as you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he whispers. He keeps his eyes closed, listening to Peter’s soft footfalls. He tucks a towel under Stiles when he returns, angling the leaking cock away from vulnerable silk.

“There, now you can’t muss your corset with come.” Peter is smug and it’s all Stiles can do to bite back the whimper he wants to give. He doesn’t know when Peter managed to get the lube open, but he jerks when slippery fingers start probing at delicate flesh. “It’s alright, baby girl. I’m just going to work you open.”

He takes a deep breath and relaxes, pushing back against Peter’s thick fingers. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Peter tuts. “No need to apologize, Princess. Not as long as you’re okay.”

His back arches as much as it can within the confines of the waist-cincher as the first of Peter’s fingers slips inside. “’M okay, promise. Was just startled.”

Peter bends down to mouth at his shoulders. The teeth scraping over his spine distract him from the second finger Peter screws inside his body, but not for long. Daddy’s being careful, and while Stiles appreciates it, he’s also getting desperate. He wants more than fingers.

He’s about to ask nicely when Peter pushes against his prostate. “Fuck me,” he groans.

Peter smothers a laugh against his skin. “I plan on it, but that’s no way to ask for something and you know it.”

“Sorry, Daddy, it’s just—” he breaks off as Peter nudges it again. “You hit the, oh—”

“Hmm? You mean this?”

And the bastard strokes it again. And then one more time, for good measure.

“Please,” he mewls, officially losing the fight to not make any embarrassing noises.

“There’s my good girl.” He deliberately _does not whine_ as Peter withdraws his fingers. The emptiness is awful, but temporary. He knows that.

He still lets out a breathy sound when the head of Peter’s cock nudges against where he wants it most. He tries to breathe deep to ease the stretch as his Daddy’s cock forces him open, but he can’t. He can’t get a good breath in, and instinctual fear flutters against his ribs.

Peter’s hips stop, and he grips the back of Stiles’s neck. “Shh, shh. You’re alright, Princess. Shallow breaths, from your chest. That’s it,” he soothes.

It’s easy to calm down once he gets the knack of breathing in the corset. Luckily, his dick never realized anything was wrong and is still achingly hard. He’s actually leaking all over the towel. Peter rocks, just a little, testing him. He pushes back, bearing down, and Daddy drops kisses across his shoulders.

For a few minutes, everything is heat and closeness and panted breaths. He’s so small and so warm with Peter plastered to his back giving dirty little grinds of his hips. The silk is like a whisper between them—present and enticing, but useless as a barrier. If anything, it feels like Daddy’s squeezing him, just on this side of too-tight, even as those big hands hold him steady, thumbs brushing the dimples above his ass.

“So pretty like this, baby,” Peter murmurs, lifting away a little. Stiles realizes why when he barks, “Open, now.”

He obeys reluctantly, meeting Daddy’s gaze in the mirror. The blue eyes are narrowed, calculating. Neither of them move—Stiles doesn’t even _breathe_ —for a long moment. “Have you had your eyes closed this whole time, Princess?”

The answer sticks in his throat, more breath than sound. “Yes.”

“Why? Did you not hear me when I told you I wanted you to watch?”

Daddy’s voice isn’t angry, but he feels his insides flood with a cocktail of guiltanxietyshame anyway. He stammers, starts to go soft, and then bites his lip so he doesn’t cry. He heard, just . . . he didn’t think Daddy had meant it as an order. Thought it was just the usual flattery.

He’s not sure how to express all that, but Peter must pick up something in his scent, on his face, because his expression softens. “Alright, up you get baby.” Peter’s clean hand slides around to his front, guiding him up off the dresser and back against Peter’s chest. Stiles squirms, the movement causing Daddy’s cock to brush his prostate.

Peter stares at him in the mirror, and he feels an embarrassed flush rise in his cheeks. He tries to look away, but Peter stops him. “No, sweetheart. I want you to look, and I want you to listen. Got it?” He waits until after Stiles nods. “Good girl. You know what I see right now?” Stiles shakes his head. “I see my pretty baby, who does everything I ask her to, no matter how hard it is, because her Daddy asked it of her.” His fingertips swirl over Stiles’s hairless chest. “I see my Princess, who loves feminine things and being doted on. Who lets me dote on her, give her the attention she needs, that she deserves.” His hand trails downward, stroking the black lace and green silk before following the exaggerated curve of Stiles’s waist.

Stiles feels his dick harden again as he watches their reflection. As he feels Peter’s breath ghosting over his ear, the reverberations of Peter’s voice against his back, sees the hunger warring with pride in his Daddy’s face as he tries to let go. He whines when Peter’s other hand slides over his hip to fondle him. “I see every part of you, baby, and I want all of it. Love all of it. Love the way your skin purples under my teeth. The way those long legs tremble, wrapped around me as you come. The way you moan when I suck your clit. The way it pulses on my tongue when you get close.” Peter’s voice descends into a gravelly whisper. “I love the way I can fuck you _hard_ , like an animal,” Stiles moans as Peter’s eyes flash icy blue, “and your hungry little cunt just takes it, squeezing while you beg for more.”

Peter’s thumb worries at one of his nipples as his other hand drops down to tease at his balls. “Love your little tits, and how perfectly you whine and beg when I play with them. Love how sweetly you open up for my kisses, my fingers, my cock.”

He can’t help the way he squirms back, trying to rock against Daddy, who’s still hard and inside him, but nowhere near as deep as he wants right now. “Please?” he whines. Peter chuckles, then manhandles him back down over the dresser, waist-cincher once again protected by the towel.

“Alright baby. I’ll give you what you need. But you keep your eyes open this time, understand?” Stiles nods, even though the urge to hide from his own reflection is so strong it’s nearly a compulsion.

But he keeps them open as Daddy starts to fuck him slowly, so he sees the way his whole body moves with a grace he didn’t know he had, making his undulations seem effortless and delicate. Sees the raw want in Daddy’s face as he stares back in the mirror and whispers, “See how pretty you are under me, baby? How gorgeously you take my cock? You were made for it.” He sees the way his skin starts to glow, dewing with sweat as Peter slowly works him over, the way a pink flush starts in his cheeks and spreads, up to his hairline and down his baby-soft jaw, across his chest to disappear under the corset. He sees the way his bitten-red bottom lip hangs open as he pants, as Peter’s perfect aim and the sweet friction of the towel dance him straight into orgasm.

He can’t help the way his eyes close then, or the way he moans. But he forces them back open, watching the sinuous flex of Peter’s body as he chases his own finish. It’s maybe a dozen erratic thrusts before Peter’s chin drops to his chest, his whole body shuddering as he releases inside Stiles’s body. It’s beautiful, and Stiles can’t believe he almost cheated himself out of getting to see it.

He’s still riding out the aftershocks when Peter kneels, big hands smoothing gently up and down trembling legs as he starts lapping up their come. His eyes flutter shut. He doesn’t see anything else, too lost in the feel of Peter’s stubble dragging against his skin as Daddy eats his own spend out of Stiles’s wrecked cunt, the icy-hot tingles of Peter’s tongue against his sticky, oversensitive clit, the steady grip that won’t let him fall. But it’s okay. He’s seen everything Daddy needed him to see.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If this made your Friday (or Saturday, or any day really, I'm not picky) a little happier, leave a comment and let me know!


End file.
